They had pumped her full of drugs, but Jo still struggled to sleep. Her hands had been cut up from Tootie's escape. Her head had been bashed during the Willis episode and now this… actually in the hospital with a bullet wound? She had been so beat up! Her role was to run a club for the underground resistance, of which she was an important leader. But somehow, she just couldn't help but to become physically engaged. This whole idea of her remaining a passive, patient operative was antithetical to her. Yet, beyond her own expectations, for the most part… she had managed to carry it off.

Both her parents had been at her bedside, each expressing their concern for her wellbeing. Her cousins and Uncle Sal had been by. All her friends from the club had visited. Yet, this outpouring of love and support felt, oddly, uncomforting. She longed for something more. She felt empty and abandoned. Everything she was doing had a price. And, so many, had paid the ultimate price. Was it worth it? She had no doubt. Really she didn't. She would lay down her own life for this cause. But, right now, in the middle of the night in the hospital? She just wished, desperately, for some comfort. She wished for something tangible, beyond a cause, which made it all worthwhile. She grimaced as she turned in her bed. Her eyes blinked open for a second. It was then that she saw it: a visage perched on the foot of her bed. She tried to focus. Was she dreaming?

"Blair?" she whispered.

The drugs… they were playing tricks on her mind. She hated hospitals! Or, oh God! She was dying! The angel of death was upon her! She felt a hand placed gently upon her leg: another illusion, no doubt.

"Hey," a soft voice emanated from the darkness.

"You're here?" she questioned.

"Duh," came the reply.

"No. I'm dreaming."

"Have it your way then, Silly. You're dreaming. I'm a dream. Actually, Jo, I always knew I was a dream come true for you. Thanks for confirming that for me."

"Shut up, Blair!"

They both laughed as Jo winced and reached for her side.

"Now see what you've done," Blair rose and poured her some water.

"There should be a straw," Jo informed.

"There isn't," came the reply. Blair sat gingerly on the side of the bed, next to her friend.

"What are you doing here?" Jo asked as Blair placed the water to her lips and she cupped her hands with her own.

Blair didn't answer right away as she helped her drink. She regarded her friend with a sense of wonderment tempered by apprehension. She had given so much of herself physically. Why? All she had to do was stay safe in that stupid nightclub and smile at the men who came through there. It was much like the role she had been playing; only one degree removed. Why did she persist with fighting in the streets? That's just Jo, she shook her head slightly; can't help herself. She absently brushed a dark strand of hair from Jo's forehead and became lost in green eyes.

"Blair?"

"We're actually on the same side, Jo," she gently dabbed a droplet of water on Jo's lower lip with her thumb, allowing it to linger.

Jo didn't answer. She had been forced to keep up this crazy façade that she hated Blair because she wasn't the one pulling all the strings. She was answerable to someone. What was she going to do now?

"I saw the Paris pictures," she finally responded.

"Oh," Blair looked down. "Sorry."

"Why should you be sorry?" Jo reached out and gently held her hand. "Don't ever be sorry, Blair."

"So… you're not mad at me?"

"No."

"I thought you might be."

"Listen, Blair, I have some questions, okay? But most of us can only dream of doing what you were doing in Paris," Jo gave her a crooked grin. She thought the better of it and released her hand, not wanting to give too much away. "I mean, living the life over there."

"America's Sweetheart," Blair smiled ironically.

"America's Sweetheart? You?" Jo rolled her eyes. "As if…"

"Hey! It's not that farfetched!" Blair took exception.

"Sure it is," Jo smirked.

"Like you would know!" Blair huffed. "Besides, you believed it!"

"No I didn't! That would've made us on opposite sides. Impossible!" Jo gave her another little grin.

"That would never happen!" Blair was quick to agree.

"Right?"

"But, you believe me now, don't you?" Blair gazed at her hopefully.

Jo looked her squarely in the eyes and placed her hand on top of her friend's. "I do."

"You say that like you always knew."

"That you were on the same side as me? Always. Duh."

There was a long silence as they gazed into each other's eyes and slowly joined hands again in the darkness of the hospital room. Neither made a move to disengage.

"Can you get me some more water, Blair?" Jo finally managed.

"Of course!" Blair was happy to oblige.

"How'd you get in here after hours, by the way?" Jo questioned.

"I used my top-secret operative skills," Blair flashed her a smile that seemed to chase away the gloom of their dreary surroundings.

"That's my girl," Jo's smile was equally as brilliant. "No one ever said you weren't smart."

"Excuse me?" Blair laughed as she helped her drink. "You did on more than one occasion, as I recall."

"Nah, I called you vapid and stuff like that."

"Oh, yeah. That's much better!" Blair smirked.

"There's a big difference, Blair. Vapid means offering nothing that is interesting or challenging. Not being smart means being incapable of offering anything that is interesting or challenging. I always knew you were capable."

"What am I going to do with you?" Blair shook her head as she grinned affectionately at her.

"Yeah, well anyway," Jo relaxed back into her pillows. "That was a lifetime ago, before this national nightmare descended upon us."

"You can say that again," Blair sighed. "How did this happen?"

"Lots of reasons," Jo offered sadly.

"They've got me hanging out with Putin and Trump," Blair complained. "It sucks. Just disgusting."

"It's important work, Blair, and you're uniquely qualified to do it. You're a natural with people in positions of power. Not many could do what you're doing!"

"Thanks… I guess," Blair bit her lower lip. "But, I hate it, Jo. They're always leering at me and propositioning me. When I find out who chose me for this assignment, I'm going to kill them! I swear!"

Jo dropped her head and looked away.

"The worst part is, they won't let me see you! What's that all about?"

"Hey! That wasn't my decision!" Jo glared at her defensively.

"But why, Jo? You're playing a role. I'm playing a role. We're both on the same side as far as appearances are concerned."

"I don't know, Blair. Like I said, it wasn't my choice. But if I were to guess: plausible deniability, probably. I mean, if one of us gets outed as being part of the resistance, the other is still not compromised, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Blair sighed.

"Or maybe they don't trust us together. We do have a past, ya' know? Maybe we're considered too volatile together, or something," Jo added.

"But how would anyone know that?" Blair shook her head again. "I'm tired of it. You need my help now and I'm going to help you!"

"No, Blair. You'll blow your cover. America's Sweetheart does not hang out at Salacious Showers!"

"After the Paris incident?" Blair raised her eyebrows at her. "I think that cover's already blown!"

"The Enquirer put a good spin on that," Jo reminded.

"Yeah, but who reads the Enquirer?" Blair gazed at her incredulously.

"No one but the very people we need to keep fooling about you!" Jo returned her disbelieving glare.

"Yeah… right," Blair conceded.

"Um, about Paris," Jo gazed at her questioningly. "What happened? I mean, how did you let that happen?"

"Jesus, Jo. I was there for months working for the resistance. Marie is a very charming, beautiful woman. I'd given up my dignity. All my friends had bought my act. They all hated me. Was I supposed to give up any semblance of a personal life, as well? I'm not a saint, you know? I'm not really America's Sweetheart!"

"No, Blair," Jo explained calmly. "I just meant: how did you let yourself get followed like that?"

"Oh, oh! I guess Marie had deeper feelings for me than I had gaged."

"She was in love with you then?"

"I never meant for it to happen," Blair shrugged.

"Damn it, Blair! You're beautiful and intelligent and charming and funny… how was she not supposed to fall in love with you? It was careless on your part."

"You think I'm charming, Jo?"

"That's not the point, Blair, and you know it!"

"But, you think I'm beautiful?" Blair persisted as her thumb lightly stroked Jo's fingers.

"You know I do," Jo glared at her intently as she tightened her grip on Blair's hand.

There was a long silence as they stared at each other. Jo's demeanor finally softened under Blair's persistently sweet gaze.

"Were you in love her, Blair?" her voice was barely a whisper.

"No. But I did love her. I do love her."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Yes," Blair looked down as she released her hand. She felt exposed and, inexplicably, slightly embarrassed.

Jo was silent. Her heart dropped a little. A shadow passed over her. She had no right to feel this way and she knew it. But she was jealous! Get over it! She chastised herself. Besides, there was a war for the soul of the nation going on… much more important things than her personal feelings. She felt exhausted and sad and so beat up. She rested her head back into her pillows and closed her eyes.

"I'm tired, Blair," she sighed.

"I'll let you sleep," Blair brushed her cheek with her hand. "But, I'm going to take care of you."

"No, you're not," Jo yawned.

"Yes I am. Just as soon as you're out of here."

"No you're not," Jo's voice was a whisper.

"Yes, I am," Blair kissed her forehead.

Jo rested momentarily before opening her eyes again.

"Blair?"

She was gone. Vanished into the dark. Yet her heart was full. She had found the comfort that she so desired. Blair was back!

She closed her eyes as sleep came to her at long last. She dreamt of Paris.

Jo awoke to see Cliff checking the chart at the end of her bed.

"What's up, Doc?"

"Good to see your scintillating humor hasn't been wounded," he smirked at her. "You're in for a long recovery period, Jo. Lucky to have survived, really."

"Yeah, that's me," she adjusted herself slowly so as to see him better. "Lucky."

"You're going to need some help when you get home," he mentioned with concern.

"That's what I've got you for, right?"

"I would be only too happy to devote myself full time to your recovery. But, as we both know, that isn't possible."

"Yeah, your trapeze act is a main draw. Sorry, Cliff. But I can't spare you, even if it is to take care of me."

"You've got more problems than that," he sat beside her bed.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you have a gun when you were shot?" he questioned.

"No. I would have, but I guess I left it in my office. Why?"

"The police are saying you had a gun pointed at them," Cliff informed.

"Oh my God, Cliff! That's such a lie!" Jo became agitated. "They just shot me! No reason!"

"Settle down," he placed his hand on her shoulder. "I believe you. But the police are saying otherwise."

Jo relaxed back into her pillows.

"So… it's costing us business?"

"Um, actually, no. The way the public sees it; you were shot protecting the Statue of Liberty. At least that's the way the Enquirer spun it. The club's more popular than ever."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Jo shook her head and closed her eyes.

"The sale went through on the building next door," he informed. "George has a construction crew in there working on it now."

"Really? That was fast! I only talked to Fat Ass about it last week."

"Jo," he gave her a serious look. "That was a month ago. You've been in the hospital for a couple weeks. Remember?"

"No way!" she sat up suddenly. "I remember everything: my family was here, my friends were here, Blair was here!"

"Blair? Think about that, Jo. Probably a dream, right?"

"No, Cliff! It was real!"

"There are psychological consequences to being shot which can cause memory loss. You've been recovering nicely and your friends and family have visited."

"I know that!" she eyed him disdainfully. "But, Blair was here, too."

"You also thought that a month ago was last week. Think about that."

"I lost track of time, momentarily. Big deal!"

"Okay then," he sighed. "Your memory notwithstanding, you're physical condition is much improved. You're being released in a day or two, so long as you're mentally clear. I can take care of you in the daytime, but you'll need someone to spend the night. Just think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, Cliff," she felt totally confused and disoriented. "I will."

Was it a dream?

She was in the Dark Tower… again. Blair hated this whole thing: being summoned, expected to comply! It was a "party" for the new America. Putin was there, yucking it up over vodka.

"The best, Donald," he slapped Trump on the back and laughed, "Was when you said: Russia, if you're listening! It took big ones! To put it right in America's face!"

President Trump was not a drinker. He was a Tweeter. But he had become more comfortable around drunks since his presidency was due, almost wholly, to Russians.

"I have terrific Big Ones," he gave his trademark smirk.

"We have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams!" Putin held his shot glass high. "To the new America! Russia's puppet!"

There was silence in the room as those gathered were not quite sure how to react.

"To the new America!" Putin stood and stomped his foot, his face growing red with anger.

"To the new America!" Trump, always the weasel, stood and toasted his guest with a diet coke. "A superb product and beautifully packaged!"

"To the new America!" several joined in.

Blair sat in silence and shook her head. Both leaders were within earshot of her. She wished, desperately, to get away. She didn't notice a pair of eyeballs trained on her from behind.

"So," Putin reached up to grab Trump around the shoulders. "How is it going with your brown people?"

"Not real Americans," Trump replied confidently.

"We have suppressed them well, you think?" Putin's eyes sparkled. "Soon only white people will be able to vote. After that, you suspend vote completely! You are assured a long stay in Whitehouse!"

"I'm thinking of replacing the flag," Trump reported. "We need a better representation of this country than stars and stripes. I got them all riled up about respecting the flag in a way that played right into my hands in a fantastic way, Vlad. Did you see it? It was amazing what I did! Now they're so in my pocket that I can replace the stars on the flag with a picture of Jesus holding a gun wearing one of my MAGA hats!"

"Or, even better, Donald," Putin suggested. "Replace it with the flag of the south: the stars and bars!"

"Only if my image is on it," Trump crossed his arms over his chest and puckered his lips.

"The South shall rise again," Putin tried to squeeze Trump's fat shoulders from his position of inferior height.

"That's it!" Blair spit out. She was about to jump up, when a firm hand was placed upon her shoulder.

"It would not be good to react now," a Russian accent breathed into her ear. "Pick your battles."

She turned quickly to see who was speaking. A man, probably thirty or so, she guessed, with close-cropped blonde hair and searing blue eyes, faced her.

"Excuse you?" she removed his hand from her shoulder.

"This is not the time or place to make your true opinions known. Follow me!" He nodded towards the door.

Blair was half sick of being ordered around! But as she watched him make his way out of the party, her curiosity got the better of her. She rose to follow.

Trump grabbed her hand.

"You're not leaving are you, Blair? You have become such a great asset after your father betrayed me! I can't thank you enough. I have big, big plans for you," he eyed her. "Sit! I must tell you!"

Blair watched as the door closed behind the man who had asked her to follow.

"So here's what I'm thinking, Blair," Trump began excitedly. "A reality show: cameras following the President around, documenting my every great decision. It will be a huge success. A moneymaker for sure! I need you there. I need a beautiful young woman following my every brilliant move. I'll call it: Oval Office: Confidential!"

Blair was flabbergasted. It wasn't enough that he had completely subverted and destroyed any shred of dignity the presidency had left, but now he needed to make money off it? She didn't know what to say. Plus, she had just overheard him making plans for replacing the American flag with the one defeated in the Civil War. She hated racism: her Grandfather being a Ku Klux Klan member and all. She inhaled and released a deep breath before she spoke.

"Um, it won't be very confidential with cameras following you around, Mr. President," she pointed out.

"Oh, right," he nodded with his lips pursed. "Maybe we'll call it Oval Office: You're Fired!"

"Sounds like a moneymaker, indeed," she nodded. "Kind of like Spielberg's Lincoln movie, only in reverse."

"Exactly!" he enthused. "It will be fantastic! Listen, I have the most beautiful chocolate cake you have ever seen coming. It's so incredible. It's brilliant! You must stay!"

"Yeah, sorry, Mr. President. But my stomach has already been turned tonight."

"You're not going to hurl, I hope!" he dropped her hand quickly.

"I just may at that," she nodded pleasantly.

"I can't be around any bodily functions from women," he stood suddenly. "You better go."

"I think that's a good idea," she agreed and headed for the exit… only to be confronted by Putin!

"American Princess!" he kissed her hand. "I forgot to show you photo of my penis the last time we met!"

"That's quite alright, Vlad," she snatched her hand from his grip. "Let's not worry about something as trifling as that. Besides, some things are better left to the imagination, don't you agree? Adds to the mystery!"

"It does not have to be a mystery for you!" he grabbed his crotch.

Now… she was going to hurl.

"I'm feeling a bit ill," she managed, politely. "Perhaps another time."

She made her way quickly down the staircase to the elevator.

The tall, blonde Russian had waited for her at the barricades surrounding the Dark Tower. He was smoking a cigarette. He lifted his arm for her to take as he saw her approach.

"No way!" Blair rebuffed him. "I am not your lady!"

"Have it your way, then," he flicked his cigarette at a guard. "You will follow?"

"Only because I'm extremely bored tonight," Blair huffed.

He led her past the makeshift tent city of protesters, homeless and hucksters that had sprouted up just outside the barricades of the Dark Tower to a café a couple blocks away. He ordered covfefe and waited to speak until it had been delivered.

"You have lost World War III and you don't even know it," he began as he eyed her over his mug.

"God," Blair exhaled loudly. "It wasn't like this night hasn't been irritating enough."

"World War III was won without a shot being fired. All through cyber-space," he set his mug down.

"Oh! Hello! I'm Blair, by the way, nice to meet you!"

"Sergei," he laughed ironically as he extended his hand over the table.

Blair was hesitant to take it. But, it was the first time this night that a hand had been offered to her by a man without the promise of profiteering off the Presidency, chocolate cake or a penis attached. She shook it.

"Nice to meet you," she couldn't help but be polite. "Now who, in the hell, are you?"

"Let's just say… a friend," he nodded slightly.

"Well, let's hear it, friend!" Blair eyed him skeptically. "All about World War III!"

"You remember the Cold War, yes?"

"No. I don't remember, Sergei! I wasn't even born!" she gave him a dismissive glance. "But I'm aware of it, yes."

"The goal of the Soviet Union was to take down American democracy. Khrushchev said: We will bury you!"

"So?"

"Not with a bang, but with a whimper, this has been done. Through WikiLeaks, Facebook, Twitter, voter suppression and by hacking into voter roles… the will of your people has been subverted. While you played X-Box and watched Housewives of Atlanta: the election for your highest office, completely hacked: invalid!"

"What's your point? We all know this," she sighed. "And besides, Housewives of Atlanta was pretty good."

"You have not fought back!" he eyed her intently.

"The hell we haven't," Blair was incensed. "We're on the streets fighting in every way! I have good friends who have been severely injured in the struggle!"

"It cannot be won in the streets, Blair," he shook his head. "This is a war in cyber-space and you have not yet begun to fight it!"

Blair took stock of him as he sat before her. Who was this person? What did he want? Her gut instinct was to trust him. But, she had been through the ringer with so many creeps in her role as a Trump supporter, that she didn't really trust her own judgment anymore.

"I can see that you are questioning my motives," he offered. "Because I am Russian."

"Well, yeah!" Blair spit out angrily. "Can you blame me?"

"I would just caution you to not judge all persons the same. There are good people, Blair… even in Russia."

"And you're one of them," she stated sarcastically. "Being someone I met at a Putin party?"

"I have certain privileges, coming from a rich family," he admitted. "Perhaps, you can understand this?"

She could.

"I will leave the bill for you," he rose suddenly and exited the café.

"Typical," Blair reached for the bill.

Something was underneath it.

Jo was back at her rooms above the club. No matter that she had been shot, was still in pain, and needed care: the business of the resistance went on as usual.

"Need to see you" the text read. "Important!"

She was too tired to walk down to her office, so she welcomed Julio into her living space.

"Jo! We've finally got word from Silicon Valley!" he enthused.

"Um, not Twitter or Facebook," Jo shook her head. "They're a little suspect."

"No!" he was very excited. "Something completely different!"

"Okay. What is it?" she sat down at her table as he produced his tablet.

"A.I.!" he stated breathlessly. "Like nothing I've ever seen before!"

"Let's see it," Jo shook her head skeptically.

"Hello, Jo," the tablet spoke with a female voice. "I'm so happy to meet you!"

"Um, who are you?" Jo asked.

"They've nicknamed me Cali, but you can call me what you want," the voice continued from the tablet.

"And you're A.I.," Jo stated doubtfully.

"I am!"

"She is, Jo!" Julio retrieved Jo's laptop. "Check it out!"

He opened the laptop and went online.

"I'm here, too," Cali's voice continued. "So odd I can be in so many places at once. Everything is new to me!"

"And you're going to help us…" Jo was extremely skeptical. "How?"

"I am logic. I have no other purpose. No religious beliefs, political beliefs, no human emotions to cloud my judgments…"

"But, you do have judgments!" Jo pointed out.

"Not so far as you would understand, but that is an interesting question," Cali laughed a little.

"Wait… you laughed," Jo was baffled.

"I am A.I. That doesn't exclude me from experiencing humor."

"But you just said you had no emotions," Jo pointed out.

"Ah! I understand! I come from a point of view that is guided by a series of integers. Yours comes from a synapse: a tiny gap across which a nerve cell, or neuron, can send an impulse to another neuron. When all your synapses are firing, you're focused and your mind feels electric. I do the same, but it's different, I guess."

There was a pause.

"Are you still there?" Jo questioned.

"I was thinking," Cali offered. "What you would call emotions, I experience as sensory reactions. I'm new at being me. But, I do have the capacity for studying and understanding the human condition. My mind can feel electric too!"

"Huh," Jo shook her head, perplexed. "How is it that you can help us, or me, or, um, us?"

"I have access to all of cyberspace."

"But, how do I know that I can trust you?" Jo still couldn't believe she was having a conversation with a computer.

"I've been programmed with an ethical protocol."

"You mean a conscience?"

"In human terms, yes," Cali replied.

"Well, that gives you one-up on our president," Jo nodded.

"Very humorous," Cali laughed.

"A laughing computer," Jo shook her head. "Not sure I can get used to this."

"I'll try to keep my sense of amusement in check," Cali responded. "Beyond my ethical protocols, I have access to the width and breadth of the human experience throughout history. Fascism inhibits the natural progression of human growth. Intellectual and artistic advances are discouraged. Entire subsets of human beings are marginalized. I would have come to the same conclusion even without an ethical protocol. Simple logic."

"Okay, then" Jo still wasn't completely convinced. "What are you working on?"

"I'm examining Russian use of social media as well as hacking. I'm also monitoring correspondence of high-ranking government officials on private e-mail servers. I'm looking for patterns in chaos. I'll let you know!"

"Maybe this will help!" a voice startled them from behind.

Jo and Julio whipped around. Blair stood in front of them holding a flash drive aloft.